CHAPTER THREE.
ON THE THRESHOLD OF LIFE.
"I will not dream of him handsome and strong-- My ideal love may be weak and slight; It matters not to what class he belong, He would be noble enough in my sight; But he must be courteous toward the lowly, To the weak and sorrowful, loving too; He must be courageous, refined, and holy, By nature exalted, and firm, and true."
By the time that Clarice had been six weeks at Oakham she had prettywell made up her mind as to the characters of her companions. TheCountess did not belie the estimate formed on first seeing her. Thegentle, mournful, loving woman of Clarice's dreams had vanished, neverto be recalled. The girl came to count that a red-letter day on whichshe did not see her mistress. Towards the Earl her feeling was an oddmixture of reverential liking and compassion. He came far nearer theideal picture than his wife. His manners were unusually gentle andconsiderate of others, and he was specially remarkable for one traitvery rarely found in the Middle Ages--he was always thoughtful of thosebeneath him. Another peculiarity he had, not common in his time; he wasdecidedly a humourist. The comic side even of his own troubles wasalways patent to him. Yet he was a man of extremely sensitive feeling,as well as of shrewd and delicate perceptions. He lived a mostuncomfortable life, and he was quite aware of it. The one person whoshould have been his truest friend deliberately nursed baseless enmitytowards him. The only one whom he loved in all the world hated him withdeadly hatred. And there was no cause for it but one--the strongestcause of all--the reason why Cain slew his brother. He was of God, andshe was of the world. Yet nothing could have persuaded her that he wasnot on the high road to perdition, while she was a special favourite ofHeaven.
Clarice found Mistress Underdone much what she had expected--agood-natured, sensible supervisor. Her position, too, was not an easyone. She had to submit her sense to the orders of folly, and to sinkher good-nature in submission to harshness. But she did her best,steered as delicately as she could between her Scylla and Charybdis, andalways gave her girls the benefit of a doubt.
The girls themselves were equally distinct as to character. Olympiaswas delicate, with a failing of delicate people--a disposition tocomplaining and fault-finding. Elaine was full of fun, ready to barterany advantage in the future for enjoyment in the present. Diana wascaustic, proud of her high connections, which were a shade above thoseof her companions, and inclined to be scornful towards everything notimmediately patent to her comprehension. Roisia, while the mostamiable, was also the weakest in character of the four; she was easilyled astray by Elaine, easily persuaded to deviate from the right throughfear of Diana.
The two priests had also unfolded themselves. The Dominican, FatherBevis, awoke in Clarice a certain amount of liking, not unmixed withrather timorous respect. But he was a grave, silent, undemonstrativeman, who gave no encouragement to anything like personal affection,though he was not harsh nor unkind. The Franciscan, Father Miles, wasof a type common in his day. The man and the priest were two differentcharacters. Father Miles in the confessional was a stern master; FatherMiles at the supper-table was a jovial playfellow. In his eyes,religion was not the breath and salt of life, but something altogetherseparate from it, and only to be mentioned on a Sunday. It was a bundleof ceremonies, not a living principle. To Father Bevis, on thecontrary, religion was everything or nothing. If it had anything to dowith a man at all, it must pervade his thoughts and his life. It wasthe leaven which leavened the whole lump; the salt whose absence leftall unsavoury and insipid; the breath, which virtually was identicalwith life. One mistake Father Bevis made, a very natural mistake to aman who had been repressed, misunderstood; and disliked, as he had beenever since he could remember--he did not realise sufficiently thatwarmth was a necessity of life, and that young creatures more especiallyrequired a certain brooding tenderness to develop their faculties. Noone had ever given him love but God; and he was too apt to suppose thatreligion could be fostered only in that way which had cherished his own.His light burned bright to Godward, but it was not sufficiently visibleto men.
Clarice La Theyn had by this time discovered that there were otherpeople in the household beyond those already mentioned. The Earl hadfour squires of the body, and the Countess two pages in waiting, besidea meaner crowd of dressers, sewers, porters, messengers, and all kindsof officials. The squires and the pages were the only ones who camemuch in contact with the bower-maidens.
Both the pages were boys of about fifteen, of whom Osbert was quiet andsedate for a boy, while Jordan was _espiegle_ and full of mischievoustricks. The squires demand longer notice.
Reginald de Echingham was the first to attract Clarice's notice--a factwhich, in Reginald's eyes, would only have been natural and proper. Hewas a handsome young man, and no one was better aware of it thanhimself. His principal virtue lay in a silky moustache, which heperpetually caressed. The Earl called him Narcissus, and he deservedit.
Next came Fulk de Chaucombe, who was about as careless of his personalappearance as Reginald was careful. He looked on his brother squirewith ineffable disdain, as a man only fit to hunt out rhymes forsonnets, and hold skeins of silk for ladies. Call him a man! thoughtMaster Fulk, with supreme contempt. Fulk's notion of manly occupationscentred in war, with an occasional tournament by way of dessert.
Third on the list was Vivian Barkworth. To Clarice, at least, he was aperplexity. He was so chameleon-like that she could not make up hermind about him. He could be extremely attractive when he liked, and hecould be just as repellent.
Least frequently of any were her thoughts given to Ademar de Gernet.She considered him at first entirely colourless. He was not talkative;he was neither handsome nor ugly; he showed no special characteristicwhich would serve to label him. She merely put him on one side, andnever thought of him unless she happened to see him.
Her fellow bower-maidens also had their ideas concerning these younggentlemen. Olympias was--or fancied herself--madly in love with thehandsome Reginald, on whom Elaine cracked jokes and played tricks, andDiana exhausted all her satire. As to Reginald, he was too deeply inlove with himself to be sensible of the attractions of any other person.It struck Clarice as very odd when she found that the weak and gentleRoisia was a timid admirer of the bear-like De Chaucombe. As for Diana,her shafts were levelled impartially at all; but in her inmost heartClarice fancied that she liked Vivian Barkeworth. Elaine washeart-whole, and plainly showed it.
The Countess had not improved on further acquaintance. She was not onlya tyrant, but a capricious one. Not merely was penalty sure to followon not pleasing her, but it was not easy to say what would please her atany given moment.
"We might as well be in a nunnery!" exclaimed Diana.
"Nay," said Elaine, "for then we could not get out."
"Don't flatter thyself on getting out, pray," returned Diana. "We shallnever get out except by marrying, or really going into a nunnery."
"For which I am sure I have no vocation," laughed Elaine. "Oh, no! Ishall marry; and won't I lead my baron a dance!"
"Who is it to be, Elaine?" asked Clarice.
"_Ha, chetife_! How do I know? The Lady will settle that. I only hopeit won't be a man who puts oil on his hair and scents himself."
This remark was a side-thrust at Reginald, as Olympias well knew, andshe looked reproachfully at Elaine.
"Well, I hope it won't be one who kills half-a-dozen men every morningbefore breakfast," said Diana, making a hit at Fulk.
It was Roisia's turn to look reproachful. Clarice could not helplaughing.
"What dost thou think of our giddy speeches, Heliet?" said she.
Heliet looked up with her bright smile.
"Very like maidens' fancies," she said. "For me, I am never like towed, so I can look on from the outside."
"But what manner of man shouldst thou fancy, Heliet?"
"Oh ay, do tell us!" cried more than one voice.
"I warrant he'll be a priest," said Elaine
.
"He will have fair hair and soft manners," remarked Olympias.
"Nay, he shall have such hair as shall please God," said Heliet, moregravely. "But he must be gentle and loving, above all to the weak andsorrowful: a true knight, to whom every woman is a holy thing, to beguarded and tended with care. He must put full affiance in God, andlove Him supremely: and next, me; and below that, all other. He mustnot fear danger, yet without fool-hardiness; but he must fear disgrace,and fear and hate sin. He must be true to himself, and must aim atmaking of himself the best man that ever he can. He must not be afraidof ridicule, or of being thought odd. He must have firm convictions,and be ready to draw sword for them, without looking to see whetherother men be on the same side or not. His heart must be open to allmisery, his brain to all true and innocent knowledge, his hand ready toredress every wrong not done to himself. For his enemies he must haveforgiveness; for his friends, unswerving constancy: for all men,courtesy."
"And that is thy model man? _Ha, jolife_!" cried Elaine. "Why, I couldnot stand a month of him."
"I am afraid he would be rather soft and flat," said Diana, with a curlof her lip.
"No, I don't think that," answered Roisia. "But I should like to knowwhere Heliet expects to find him."
"Do give his address, Heliet!" said Elaine, laughing.
"Ah! I never knew but one that answered to that description," wasHeliet's reply.
"_Ha, jolife_!" cried Elaine, clapping her hands. "Now for his name! Ihope I know him--but I am sure I don't."
"You all know His name," said Heliet, gravely. "How many of us know_Him_? For indeed, I know of no such man that ever lived, except onlyJesus Christ our Lord."
There was no answer. A hush seemed to have fallen on the whole party,which was at last broken by Olympias.
"Well, but--thou knowest we cannot have Him."
"Pardon me, I know no such thing," answered Heliet, in the same soft,grave tone. "Does not the Psalmist say, `_Portio mea, Domine_'? [Note1] And does not Solomon say, `_Dilectus meus mihi_?' [Note 2.] Is itnot the very glory of His infinitude, that all who are His can have allof Him?"
"Where did Heliet pick up these queer notions?" said Diana under herbreath.
"She goes to such extremes!" Elaine whispered back.
"But all that means to go into the cloister," replied Olympias in adiscontented tone.
"Nay," said Heliet, taking up her crutches, "I hope a few will go toHeaven who do not go into the cloister. But we may rest assured ofthis, that not one will go there who has not chosen Christ for hisportion."
"Well," said Diana, calmly, a minute after Heliet had disappeared, "Isuppose she means to be a nun! But she might let that alone till she isone."
"Let what alone?" asked Roisia.
"Oh, all that parson's talk," returned Diana. "It is all very well forpriests and nuns, but secular people have nothing to do with it."
"I thought even secular people wanted to go to Heaven," coolly put inElaine, not because she cared a straw for the question, but because shedelighted in taking the opposite side to Diana.
"Let them go, then!" responded Diana, rather sharply. "They can keep itto themselves, can't they?"
"Well, I don't know," said Elaine, laughing. "Some people cannot keepthings to themselves. Just look at Olympias, whatever she is doing, howshe argues the whole thing out in public. `Oh, shall I go or not? Yes,I think I will; no, I won't, though; yes, but I will; oh, can't somebodytell me what to do?'"
Elaine's mimicry was so perfect that Olympias herself joined in thelaugh. The last-named damsel carried on all her mental processes inpublic, instead of presenting her neighbours, as most do, with resultsonly. And when people wear their hearts upon their sleeves, the dawswill come and peck at them.
"Now, don't tease Olympias," said Roisia good-naturedly.
"Oh, let one have a bit of fun," said Elaine, "when one lives in aconvent of the strictest order."
"I suspect thou wouldst find a difference if thou wert to enter one,"sneered Diana.
Elaine would most likely have fought out the question had not MistressUnderdone entered at that moment with a plate of gingerbread in her handsmoking hot from the oven.
"Oh, Mistress, I am so hungry!" plaintively observed that young lady.
Mistress Underdone laughed, and set down the plate. "There, part thespice-cake among you," said she. "And when you be through, I havesomewhat to tell you."
"Tell us now," said Elaine, as well as a mouthful of gingerbread allowedher to speak.
"Let me see, now--what day is this?" inquired Mistress Underdone.
All the voices answered her at once, "Saint Dunstan's Eve!" [May 13th].
"So it is. Well--come Saint Botolph, [June 17th] as I have but nowlearned, we go to Whitehall."
"_Ha, jolife_!" cried Diana, Elaine, and Roisia at once.
"Will Heliet go too?" asked Clarice, softly.
"Oh, no; Heliet never leaves Oakham," responded Olympias.
Mistress Underdone looked kindly at Clarice. "No, Heliet will not go,"she said. "She cannot ride, poor heart." And the mother sighed, as ifshe felt the prospective pain of separation.
"But there will be dozens of other maidens," said Elaine. "There areplenty of girls in the world beside Heliet."
Clarice was beginning to think there hardly were for her.
"Oh, thou dost not know what thou wilt see at Westminster!" exclaimedElaine. "The Lord King, and the Lady Queen, and all the Court; and theAbbey, with all its riches, and ever so many maids and gallants. It isdelicious beyond description, when the Lady is away visiting someshrine, and she does that nearly every day."
Roisia's "Hush!" had come too late.
"I pray you say that again, my mistress!" said the well-known voice ofthe Lady Margaret in the doorway. "Nay, I will have it.--Fetch me therod, Agatha.--Now then, minion, what saidst? Thou caitiff giglot! If Ihad thee not in hand, that tongue of thine should bring thee to ruin.What saidst, hussy?"
And Elaine had to repeat the unlucky words, with the birch in prospect,and immediately afterwards in actuality.
"I will lock thee up when I go visiting shrines!" said the Countess withher last stroke. "Agatha, remember when we are at Westminster that Ihave said so."
"Ay, Lady," observed Mistress Underdone, composedly.
And the Lady Margaret, throwing down the birch, stalked away, and leftthe sobbing Elaine to resume her composure at her leisure.
In a vaulted upper chamber of the Palace of Westminster, on a brightmorning in June, four persons were seated. Three, who were of thenobler sex, were engaged in converse; the last, a lady, sat apart withher embroidery in modest silence. They were near relatives, for the menwere respectively husband, brother-in-law, and uncle of the woman, andthey were the most prominent members of the royal line of England, withone who did not belong to it.
Foremost of the group was the King. He was foremost in more senses thanone, for, as is well known, Edward the First, like Saul, was higher thanany of his people. Moreover, he was as spare as he was tall, which madehim look almost gigantic. His forehead was large and broad, hisfeatures handsome and regular, but marred by that perpetual droop in hisleft eyelid which he had inherited from his father. Hair andcomplexion, originally fair, had been bronzed by his Eastern campaignstill the crisp curling hair was almost black, and the delicate tint hadacquired a swarthy hue. He had a nose inclining to the Roman type, abroad chest, agile arms, and excessively long legs. His dark eyes weresoft when he was in a good temper, but fierce as a tiger's when rousedto anger; and His Majesty's temper was--well, not precisely angelic.[Note 3.] It was like lightning, in being as sudden and fierce, but itdid not resemble that natural phenomenon in disappearing as quickly asit had come. On the contrary, Edward never forgot and hardly forgave aninjury. His abilities were beyond question, and, for his time, he wasan unusually independent and original thinker. His moral character,however, was worse than is commonly supposed, though i
t did not descendto the lowest depths it reached until after the death of his fair andfaithful Leonor.
The King's brother Edmund was that same Earl of Lancaster whom we havealready seen at Oakham. He was a man of smaller intellectual calibrethan his royal brother, but of much pleasanter disposition. Extremegentleness was his principal characteristic, as it has been that of allour royal Edmunds, though in some instances it degenerated intoexcessive weakness. This was not the case with the Earl of Lancaster.His great kindness of heart is abundantly attested by his own lettersand his brother's State papers.
William de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, was the third member of the group,and he was the uncle of the royal brothers, being a son of theirgrandmother's second marriage with Hugh de Lusignan, Count de La Marche.Though he made a deep mark upon his time, yet his character is not easyto fathom beyond two points--that his ability had in it a little elementof craft, and that he took reasonable care of Number One.
Over the head of the lady who sat in the curule chair, quietlyembroidering, twenty-five years had passed since she had been styled bya poet, "the loveliest lady in all the land." She was hardly less evennow, when her fifty years were nearly numbered; when, unseen by anyearthly eyes, her days were drawing to their close, and the angel ofdeath stood close beside her, ready to strike before six months shouldbe fulfilled. Certainly, according to modern ideas of beauty, never wasa queen fairer than Leonor the Faithful, and very rarely has there beenone as fair. And--more unusual still--she was as good as she wasbeautiful. The worst loss in all her husband's life was the loss ofher.
So far from seeing any sorrow looming in the future was King Edward atthis moment, that he was extremely jubilant over a project which he hadjust brought to a successful issue.
"There!" said he, rubbing his hands in supreme satisfaction, "thatparchment settles the business. When both my brother of Scotland and Iare gone, our children will reign over one empire, king and queen ofboth. Is not that worth living for?"
"_Soit_!" [Be it so] ejaculated De Valence, shrugging his Provencalshoulders. "A few acres of bare moss and a handful of stags, to saynothing of the barbarians who dwell up in those misty regions. A finematter surely to clap one's hands over!"
"Ah, fair uncle, you never travelled in Scotland," interposed the gentleLancaster, before the King could blaze up, "and you know not what sortof country it is. From what I have heard, it would easily match yourland in respect of beauty."
"Match Poitou? or Provence? Cousin, you must have taken leave of yoursenses. You were not born on the banks of the Isere, or you would notchatter such treason as that."
"Truly no, fair Uncle, for I was born in the City of London, justbeyond," said Lancaster, with a good-humoured laugh; "and, verily, thatwould rival neither Scotland nor Poitou, to say nothing of Dauphine andProvence. The goddess of beauty was not in attendance when I was born."
Perhaps few would have ventured on that assertion except himself.Edmund of Lancaster was among the most handsome of our princes.
"Beshrew you both!" cried King Edward, unfraternally; "wherever willthese fellows ramble with their tongues? Who said anything aboutbeauty? I care not, I, if the maiden Margaret were the ugliest lassthat ever tied a kerchief, so long as she is the heiress of Scotland.Ned has beauty enough and to spare; let him stare in the glass if hecannot look at his wife."
The Queen looked up with an amused expression, and would, perhaps, havespoken, had not the tapestry been lifted by some person unseen, and alittle boy of six years old bounded into the room.
No wonder that the fire in the King's eyes died into instant softness.It would have been a wonder if the parents had not been proud of thatboy, for he was one of the loveliest children on whom human eye everrested. Did it ever cross the minds of that father and mother that thekindest deed they could have done to that darling child would have beento smother him in his cradle? Had the roll of his life been held upbefore them at that moment, they would have counted only thirty-sevenyears, written within and without in lamentation, and mourning, and woe.
King Edward lifted his little heir upon his knee.
"Look here, Ned," said he. "Seest yonder parchment?"
The blue eyes opened a little, and the fair curls shook with a nod ofaffirmation.
"What is it, thinkest?"
A shake of the pretty little head was the reply.
"Thy Cousin Margaret is coming to dwell with thee. That parchment willbring her."
"How old is she?" asked the Prince.
"But just a year younger than thou."
"Is she nice?"
The King laughed. "How can I tell thee? I never saw her."
"Will she play with us?"
"I should think she will. She is just between thee and Beatrice."
"Beatrice is only a baby!" remarked the Prince disdainfully. Six yearsold is naturally scornful of four.
"Not more of a baby than thou," said his uncle Lancaster, playfully.
"But she's a girl, and I'm a man!" cried the insulted little Prince.
King Edward, excessively amused, set his boy down on the floor. "There,run to thy mother," said he. "Thou wilt be a man one of these days, Idare say; but not just yet, Master Ned."
And no angel voice whispered to one of them that it would have been wellfor that child if he had never been a man, nor that ere he was sixmonths older, the mother, whose death was a worse calamity to him thanto any other, and the little Norwegian lassie to whom he was nowbetrothed, would pass almost hand in hand into the silent land. Threemonths later, Margaret, Princess of Norway and Queen of Scotland, setsail from her father's coast for her mother's kingdom, whence she was totravel to England, and be brought up under the tender care of the royalLeonor as its future queen. But one of the sudden and terrible stormsof the North Sea met her ere she reached the shore of Scotland. Shejust lived to be flung ashore at Kirkwall, in the Orkneys, and there, inthe pitying hands of the fishers' wives, the child breathed out herlittle life, having lived five years, and reigned for nearly as long.Who of us, looking back to the probable lot that would have awaited herin England, shall dare to pity that little child?
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Note 1. "Thou art my portion, O Lord."--Psalm 119, verse 57.
Note 2. "My beloved is mine."--Canticles 2, verse 16.
Note 3. Two anecdotes may be given which illustrate this in a manneralmost comical; the first has been published more than once, the latterhas not to my knowledge. When his youngest daughter Elizabeth wasmarried to the Earl of Hereford in 1302, the King, annoyed by someunfortunate remark of the bride, snatched her coronet from her head andthrew it into the fire, nor did the Princess recover it undamaged. In1305, writing to John de Fonteyne, the physician of his second wife,Marguerite of France, who was then ill of small-pox, the King warns himnot on any account to allow the Queen to exert herself until she hascompletely recovered, "and if you do," adds the monarch in French, ofconsiderably more force than elegance, and not too suitable for exactquotation, "you shall pay for it!"
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